Why We Fight


griffin_icon.gif monica_icon.gif

Scene Title Why We Fight
Synopsis Monica's idealism meets Griffin's pessimism.
Date November 14, 2010

Prison cells!

It's rather boring, sitting here in this cell, in the desolate cell. No books, no television, just blank walls to stare at while he waits for them, whoever they are, to do whatever it is they plan to do with him. He's been lounging shirtless, both for the sake of the women in the cell across from him, and for the sake of comfort.

The man turns green eyes up toward Monica and Mynama's cell, brows arching thoughtfully. His voice is quiet, so as not to wake the obviously slumbering Mynama. "So what'd you do to get in here, Miss Dancer?"

It is very boring. The negation of their abilities at least saves Monica from the twitchiness hers tends to give her when she's in a tense situation, so there is a silver lining! It is just so very thin.

When she hears the voice call out, Monica looks over and moves across the cell to sit by the bars. Probably also for Mynama's sake. "Rioting. Caught the broadcast on Roosevelt and lost it. I suppose they got sort of upset when I kicked the cop trying to arrest her," she says with a gesture to the girl, "and then they just grabbed us both. Did you get the black bag treatment, too?"

Griffin smirks quietly, rolling onto his stomach on the cot to peer at Monica. "Black bag treatment? Hardly. I'm afraid it took a damn superspeedster to take me down. Hit me in the back of the head with his elbow." Griffin shrugs quietly. Then, he's quiet for a long moment, watching the girl thoughtfully. Sadly, if it weren't for the negation, they would all be out of here, he's sure.

"I killed a police officer and a FRONTLINE soldier while protecting a Ferrymen safehouse." The admittance is whispered across the expanse. She could hate him for it, or she could love him. Either way, he may as well be forthcoming to another victim in this whole mess.

"I'm afraid, when push comes to shove, I'm really just a girl in her mid-twenties, when it comes to taking me down. Ninja skills or not," Monica remarks with a strained half smile.

His confession doesn't seem to pull any extreme emotion right off the top, but her hands wrap around the bars there. "The FRONTLINE soldier… It wasn't… a woman, was it? Blonde hair? Right about my height? Mid-thirties? Not that she'd be… raiding one of the safehouses…" Hm. "So what's a terrorist doing guarding the Ferry anyway?"

Griffin smiles faintly, offering nothing in response. He would talk about his ability, but he's one of those fellows who is a bit slow to open up. Being in jail offers no exception, really. Instead, he offers a simple name for his ability. "Telekinetic. Beyond that, I'm just a man in his mid thirties with a bad knee." He smirks. "You'll have to show off some of your ninja skills for me after I step on your feet while we dance."

He notes the woman's hands wrapping around the bars, and shakes his head. "No. A man. African American. A little taller than me, maybe late twenties." He tilts his head to one side. "I'm not a terrorist by my definition. The media has labeled my group as such, however. I help where needed. They needed it desperately. So I helped." He shrugs.

"Okay," Monica says, her hold on the bars relaxing there. "I have some friends in FRONTLINE, good people, though. God, I wish I knew what's happened to everyone." She slumps back against the wall there, silent for a moment before she looks back over to him again. "The media's got a big mouth. Especially lately. I know you weren't PARIAH," she notes that with some level of confidence, "And unless the Ferrymen have changed their tactics in the past couple of weeks, I'm guessing you're one of Petey's boys." For someone who isn't a terrorist, she sure knows a thing or two about the underbelly of Evolved society.

"TK, handy," she says, her smile widening just a bit, "I'm a mimic. Adoptive Muscle Memory is the technical term, I guess. And I'll give you a chance to take back the offer for me to show off, before you end up sitting through a whole show."

Griffin's brows raise, the man looking honestly impressed. "You would be correct in your guess." He chuckles softly, resting his chin on his arms. "We aren't nearly as bad as the media says we are— really, we're all just people fighting for freedom." He shrugs, closing his eyes for a moment. "For the freedom of our children. Things just got— complicated."

Then, his eyes open and his somber moment is passed. "Handy…that's been used before to describe it." He chuckles. If only she knew how right she was in her assumption. "I won't mind an entire show. I'm certain it would be very entertaining." He grins. "So how does that work? You see something and then do it?"

"We're all trying to fight for freedom. We just all have our different ways. Don't worry. I know why y'all do what you do." Which means, there's no judgment or lecturing from Monica on the topic, at least. "It's always getting complicated, isn't it?" A hand rubs against her leg as she chuckles a little. Oooh how true that has been lately.

"Alright, but don't say I didn't warn you," she notes, but with a smile over his way. "Pretty much. I watch someone for a bit, my little brother said I go into a kinda… trance. White eyes, the whole bit. And then I just… know how to do it."

Griffin offers a somber nod toward Monica, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "It always does get complicated, it seems. Such is the life of us freedom fighters, I suppose." He shrugs, opening his eyes to peer thoughtfully over at the woman.

The change of topic is actually quite welcome, really. He smiles faintly. "Fascinating. Do you know any instruments, then? I— I was once a composer. Music is a passion." He chuckles softly, tilting his head to one side. "I get white eyes when I use my ability. It's interesting, really. My ability manifests as telekinetic hands of sorts. It's like…I reach out with my mind, and it comes as an extra hand. I have six extra ones, aside from these." He raises his own hands. "I'm great help when moving day comes around."

"Piano," is Monica's quick answer. "I always meant to pick up the drums, but I just haven't go around to it yet. But the piano. That was one of the first things I picked up… I never had been able to play before. My mom used to try to teach me, but it didn't stick. Until that eclipse."

When he explains about his power, Monica's eyebrows lift and she cants her head curiously. "Wow, that's… pretty cool. I've never seen it come out like that. You could be your own band with all that going on."

Griffin chuckles. "I actually can be my own band. And hey, if you want to learn drums, I'm your guy. I have working knowledge of just about every instrument." He smiles faintly, peeking over his arms at Monica. "Perhaps you could teach me to dance, in exchange for me teaching you drums. I also know violin, cello, guitar, and bass. Only thing I can't do is sing." He smirks.

"It's not exactly something you can see." Unless there's blood on the tendrils of telekinetic energy, and then they're clear as day. "But that is something I've done before. Piano duets, Cello and Violin duets, and many other combinations." He chuckles.

"That's a deal, drums for dancing. Girls love a nice dance now and then," Monica says, her smile softening as she leans against the bars. "'course, I imagine the extra hands don't hurt, either," she adds with a crooked smile.

"You'll have to show me. Invisible duets sound like they'd be fun to see," she says as she pulls her legs up to her chest to wrap her arms around. Sitting still is not her forte. "I think you're excused from knowing how to sing, with those skills. I used to sing, but it was… ya know, like church singing. You can't escape the jazz in N'awlins, neither. Music's in just about everything."

"Sounds like a plan to me." He chuckles softly, watching Monica with a thoughtful look in those wide green eyes of his. "The extra hands are far more useful than you could imagine. If they weren't negating us…well, we would be having our dancing lessons right now." And Nadira wouldn't be worried sick, as he's quite certain she is probaly doing right now.

"I'll certainly be happy to show you. They're as fun to play as they are to see, as they take much more concentration. But the proper effort produces beautiful music." He smiles at her sentiments of N'awlins. "I went there when I was young, just turned 21. I loved it there. Always did want to open my own jazz lounge one day…doubt it'll ever happen, really, with my track record, but it's nice to dream."

"If only," Monica says with a bit of a sigh. "I've never really liked being negated. I know some people don't really like being SLC-Expressive, but… I dunno. I like it. Not having it there at the back of my head's a little disconcerting. I'm hoping they don't plan on just… dropping us here and forgetting about us."

Even talking about her home town doesn't quite lift the gloom, but she does smile there, as he goes on. "It's always been such a beautiful place. It's been a hard road to recovery after Katrina, but people've really worked hard. Your dream? It's a good one. And believe me, worse men that you've pulled it off, so don't discount it just yet. There's always a reason to hope. Without it… what's the point, ya know? That's why I do what I do." Which is probably more than just bodyguarding, putting it that way.

"I don't like being negated. It feels like I'm handicapped. Not that there is any wrong in being normal, but…when you normally have eight arms at your disposal, being knocked down to two feels like I'm disabled." He shrugs, watching Monica. "Here's hoping they don't forget about us. Surely they'll be wanting to kick my ass, after I killed those two men."

"It was beautiful when I went there. It inspired me, really." He offers a low chuckle, rolling onto his back and stretching his arms above his head, before sitting up and leaning his shoulder against the bars. "Mmf. Hope is hard to come by these days, Monica." A weak smile suggests he knows more about this than he wants to let on.

"No, I know what you mean. My power… it does a lot of the thinking, I like to say, in tense situations. Which is sometimes worrying, but without it, I feel like I don't know what to do." Monica glances over to Mynama, then back to Griffin again. "I don't know. I wish I knew what was going on. Mynama was just… there and they stuck her down here with us. You know what I mean? It doesn't look good."

That weak smile of his makes Monica sit up, turning to better face it. "That's when it's most important. I know I sound… like a naive idealist, and maybe I am. But I am by choice. After all the loss and the pain and the wrongs… it's so easy to despair. We've got to be brave and have hope that there's something worth the fight. Without hope, soldiers fall. Anyway, that's my philosophy."

That gets him thinking again. About everything— about how he probably deserves to be in here. Griffin offers a faint smile, leaning back against the cool concrete wall of the cell, closing his eyes. "Ten years ago, my ability manifested. It was…horrifying. It manifested by killing my wife, right as she told me that she wanted a divorce."

He takes a long, slow breath, rubbing a hand over his bare chest. "We had a son. He was four months old when it happened. I was taken away— put in jail and negated." He tilts his head to one side. "Ten years went past. And now, my sister has brought my son to me, and then snatched him back up from me again, stole him away. And on top of all of that, I find I may have been a Company agent."

He sighs after the confession, laying back down in his bed. "I'm sure you can see why I'm less than optimistic about life, the universe, and everything."

There's a little moment of silence there, her head bowed before she says, "I'm so sorry." It's genuine, too. This girl, whatever she is, she's got enough empathy to actually care about other people. "I can't imagine how hard it's gotta be," her hand slips out from between the bars there, as if to reach for him. She can't get that far, of course, and her palm ends up pressed against the ground, but the sentiment is there.

"I never really knew my dad… and I lost my mom in the hurricane. She'd stayed back… God knows why any of us thought that was a good idea. And then my cousin and his wife and kid were at the heart of Midtown four years ago and in the years after, with the fighting and everything that's gone on… well, it ain't the same, I know. But I understand how much losing someone can rip out of you. And I know it's hard to get through the gloom enough to see the sunshine. But the sunshine is there, even when we can't see it."

Green eyes find Monica in the darkness of the jail, that oh-so-faint smile touching his features. "It's…difficult, yes. I— I hold on for my son. He's such a handsome boy. Looks like his mother." He smiles faintly. "I don't want him to have to go through everything I've gone through. He's Evolved, like you and I. Hasn't manifested yet."

A soft sigh comes from Griffin's cell, and a more genuine smile is turned toward Monica. "Thank you for listening. I think, since you know my life story, I can consider you a friend. Unless you have any objections?" He smiles faintly.

"It's a good reason to hold on. I'll be fighting for him, too. To give him a better future." Monica is slow to pull her hand back, and her fingers curl around the bars again when she does. "I've got two good ears just perfect for listening," she says in reply with a soft smile. "You won't hear an objection from me. Plus, I like havin' a handsome man around. It's good for the spirit," she says, adding a little lightness to the mood. As much as she can, given their situation.

"Well, thank you." Griffin smiles. Briefly, his own hand reaches out, though they're certainly too far away from each other for that. Then, he rolls onto his stomach once more. "Well I must say that it's quite a comfort, having a beautiful woman such as yourself to converse with during this horribly unpleasant time." He makes a motion as if tipping an invisible hat toward her. Then, he offers a more genuine chuckle, which is only interrupted by the yawn that quickly follows it.

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